Nightmares

Michael began screaming, in the middle of the night. Twice, he was found by his father at the foot of the stairs sleepwalking, his eyes closed.

He was having terrible nightmares.

"It's no wonder," said Gordon. "What with the Ruxton murders, and little Billy Ruxton being put in the Old Workhouse. Then, Next-door clumping him and her being carried away. And, Henry telling him weird stories and always on about his war! It stands to reason he's all upset inside himself."

Inevitably, Nan had her views. Some she shared with Gordon and the rest with Henry.

"Too sensitive a nature! Hyperactive! Impressionable! Huh! All those books in the house! Gets too much of his own way! Mother ruins him! Knows too much for his own good! Stupid nursery rhymes! Just ignore him! Enjoys the attention! He'll grow out of it! Just a passing phase! Needs his bowels emptying! Give him a tonic!"

Gordon's mother could still be influential. They gave Michael malt out of a jar, a table-spoonful every Friday night, castor oil on Saturdays.

"Sit on the lav 'til you've done what you're supposed to!"

Twice a day!

Purging himself in purgatory. He hated it out there in that cold, dark, frightening, outside lav.

"Can I leave the door open?"

"No!"

"Nobody'll hear me if I fall down the hole!"

"Don't be silly!"

When he went to bed, after his Dad had gone downstairs, he didn't know whether he was awake or asleep when it all started happening in his mind.

He imagined there were witches in the backyard. Black beetles crawled all over his bedclothes. Rats scratched at the window. Gigantic spiders dangled from his bedroom ceiling. The corner for hanging criminals at Lancaster Castle was imagined to be in a dark corner of his bedroom. Processions of the condemned being prodded up Brewery Lane to Golgotha for execution entreated him for mercy . His dead Granddad and his soldier mates sprang out of their graves after being blown up. There were all sorts of unknown things that moved and made a noise in the dark. He called them his Uglies.

Worst of all was the imagined tiger that lived down Leonardgate. In his dream, Michael went looking for it. As he left the house, he lifted the cover off their coal-cellar, the one on the pavement outside their parlour window. He then made his way down the street in the dark. There were unimaginable dangers in every shadowy place.

When he got to where the tiger lived, behind the wired windows of Waring and Gillows' factory, he banged hard on one of the windows then turned and ran away. He had a good start on the beast, with its big yellow eyes, glaring at him in the dark, from a top window. It growled ferociously and launched itself through the air. It chased Michael towards his home. He was terrified but he had his plan to fall back on.

He would jump over the opening on the pavement. The tiger wouldn't notice it and it would fall down into the cellar and be trapped. Then he would replace the cover and the frightful beast wouldn't be able to escape. He'd be safe.

But it all went wrong!

His plan never worked. The same thing always happened. Michael tripped as he got close to the hole in the pavement.The tiger was almost near enough to bite his head off, when Michael fell down the hole .

Down he went, falling over and over. His falling went on forever. The tiger was staring down at him its greeny-yellow eyes like seachlights. He should have been falling away from it but its head, its face, its teeth loomed nearer and nearer. It had a horrible leer on its hideous features.

Finally, the tiger's face slowly transformed itself. It turned into Doctor Ruxton, smiling down at him, brandishing a knife which was dripping with blood, trying to reach him. To cut out his heart!

The only way to escape from the nightmare was for his Dad to come and wake him, to rescue him. He had to find his voice and scream.

"Dad! Dad!"

Was he succeeding? As he continued falling, he tried to shout, "Dad!" again, to call out for salvation. Was he asleep and dreaming? Or was it really happening?

His father was his only hope. At last he was shaken awake.

"Waken up Michael. Come on son! It's alright. You're safe now. It's only me. It's your Dad!"

He came back to his senses, crying and shaking with terror, the dream still vivid in his mind. If only he could sleep in their room, in his old cot. The one Gwyn slept in now!

He thought, "I'll never have any peace so long as I'm on my own."

Every evening his mother or father had to read him a story and help him to sleep before he could be left alone in his bedroom. He had to have a candle light.

It was no use. Nothing helped. Night after night the Uglies were after him. In one form or another they pursued him relentlessly. They were awesome phantoms in many disguises.

"But who are they? What do they look like?" his Dad asked.

Michael couldn't say. They had countless possibilities for manifesting themselves. The Uglies' presence was sensed rather than seen or heard. They were always waiting just out of sight in dark corners of his mind. He felt that he was doomed. They'd always be after him. Sooner or later they would kidnap him, carry him off and he'd never see his Mam and Dad or Gwyn ever again. His family wouldn't know where to find him, no matter how hard they tried. The Uglies would win in the end.

"No, they won't," his Dad insisted. "You're safe here in the house with us. Nothing can harm you."

But it wasn't true. Michael imagined he could hear them jeering and laughing, even as his Dad was trying to console and convince him that there was nothing to worry about.

They sent him to St. Anne's Sunday School, with Joan, every week. That only made things worse. Now he had the Devil and the fear of hell fire to contend with!

There was a funny side to some of his daytime imaginings. His Mam and Dad thought so! When he came home and asked about the hymn with the line, "Lettuce with a gladsome mind," they laughed. He found it weird!

"Why is there a 'green hill without a city wall'? Why did the hill need a city wall?"

Michael held on tight to Margaret's hand when they walked the old route that condemned criminals had taken to the gallows, up near where Rob lived now. He imagined seeing their terrified faces and eyes popping out of their heads after they were strung up at Golgotha.

On Sundays, he didn't want to go with his Dad for a walk across town to the castle to where the Lancashire Witches' ghosts haunted the dungeons.

He didn't want to go with his Granddad along the canal banks, in case he saw Davy Jones, the water demon.

He wouldn't go on the top of a double-decker bus because the height made him dizzy and he was frightened it would topple over going round the roundabout at White Lund.

Nan said, "It's all her fault," meaning Michael's mother.

"Gives him too much attention. Fills his head with a lot of nonsense."

Margaret heard she'd said this and didn't go near her mother-in-law for six weeks.

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